Wouldn't It Be Nice
It all started on the first day of my new job. I crawled out of bed, sleep-deprived and in need of coffee, and drowsily got ready for my first day. I walked out of the door just a few minutes behind schedule and sprinted to my car before the other guy took control. The guy who burns bugs with a magnifying glass just to see them writhe in pain. I don’t know how long I have been him and how long he has been me.
I sped to work and got there just in time. I walked in and was greeted by my new boss, an unattractive man in his late sixties, with cologne so strong he kept sneezing.
Wouldn’t it be nice? The other guy said, Wouldn’t it be nice to get rid of the cologne? Wouldn’t it be nice to help him stop sneezing? How about we help him? How about that?
I walked to my new desk, ignoring him.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just help him along his way? You know, like at the last job. Paint the bathroom red and all that? No one will know we did it.
At my lunch break, the other guy took over. One moment, I was about to fall asleep at my desk, the next I was standing in a pile of blood. Like always, I snagged a trash bag from the janitor’s closet and bagged the body and my clothes. I couldn’t live like this, hopping from one job to the next, leaving a trail of unsolved cases in my wake. At least the other guy was thorough, at least he never got caught. But every time I see his victims’ families on TV, I feel guilty. For what? I don’t know. But today was worse. All the victims in the past were awful people - liars, cheaters, thieves - so it didn’t really feel like killing. It felt more like purging the world of evil. At least that’s what the other guy told me.
But this guy was slain just because he overapplied his cologne. What next, will he start killing people who have bad handwriting or smell like turnips? People just like me? I decided. Tomorrow, I am walking straight into the police station and ending this. I can’t go around killing innocent people. I drove home quickly, my mind caught in a pit of darkness. I sped into the driveway but I couldn’t get out of my car.
Wouldn’t it be nice? The other guy said. Wouldn’t it be nice if we sliced off your hair? The other guy said, Just to feel pain somewhere else, to get rid of your heartbreak.
I reached for my pocket knife and sliced off my hair, strand by strand.
What about your finger? See how easy it is?
What about your hand?
What about your throat?
I couldn’t stop anymore. He raised the knife to my throat and with one clean slice, I knew he had won.
I sped to work and got there just in time. I walked in and was greeted by my new boss, an unattractive man in his late sixties, with cologne so strong he kept sneezing.
Wouldn’t it be nice? The other guy said, Wouldn’t it be nice to get rid of the cologne? Wouldn’t it be nice to help him stop sneezing? How about we help him? How about that?
I walked to my new desk, ignoring him.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just help him along his way? You know, like at the last job. Paint the bathroom red and all that? No one will know we did it.
At my lunch break, the other guy took over. One moment, I was about to fall asleep at my desk, the next I was standing in a pile of blood. Like always, I snagged a trash bag from the janitor’s closet and bagged the body and my clothes. I couldn’t live like this, hopping from one job to the next, leaving a trail of unsolved cases in my wake. At least the other guy was thorough, at least he never got caught. But every time I see his victims’ families on TV, I feel guilty. For what? I don’t know. But today was worse. All the victims in the past were awful people - liars, cheaters, thieves - so it didn’t really feel like killing. It felt more like purging the world of evil. At least that’s what the other guy told me.
But this guy was slain just because he overapplied his cologne. What next, will he start killing people who have bad handwriting or smell like turnips? People just like me? I decided. Tomorrow, I am walking straight into the police station and ending this. I can’t go around killing innocent people. I drove home quickly, my mind caught in a pit of darkness. I sped into the driveway but I couldn’t get out of my car.
Wouldn’t it be nice? The other guy said. Wouldn’t it be nice if we sliced off your hair? The other guy said, Just to feel pain somewhere else, to get rid of your heartbreak.
I reached for my pocket knife and sliced off my hair, strand by strand.
What about your finger? See how easy it is?
What about your hand?
What about your throat?
I couldn’t stop anymore. He raised the knife to my throat and with one clean slice, I knew he had won.